Then, once all the buildings had been opened, he found himself running headlong through the pitiful lines of shambling hostages. The wind had picked up now and the rain came in spurts. Nearby, Fragonard and Barbousse were boosting hostages gently up the ladder and onto the vehicle's broad back. All three machines were filling rapidly with pitiful knots of what once were graceful flighted men and women. "Get 'em up there quick as you can," he yelled to the ordnance man. "I want us out of here before the Leaguers bring up some real reinforcements!"
As the six machines lumbered back through the gate and up the hill—running lights darkened this time—stars were showing through the clouds. Brim glanced at his timepiece and nodded. They were almost precisely on the schedule he had set. Less than a metacycle remained before dawn.
The first recall signal was broadcast from Prosperous not long after Brim and his party rejoined the other three fieldpieces just over the crest of the hill. "Battlecruisers, Lieutenant," Fragonard reported with a look of concern. "Operations gives us less than four watches before Prosperous leaves—ten metacycles at most."
Brim pursed his lips, thinking of Sandur's warning, then he shrugged and smiled. "Ten metacycles gives us plenty of time," he answered in what he hoped was a voice of confidence.
"If you say so, Lieutenant," Fragonard muttered, but his face gave the lie to his words.
"Count 'em yourself," Brim reasoned. "It took us only three to drive to the high bridge—so four metacycles will certainly get us back from here. And with another for shuttling up to Prosperous, we still have most of five metacycles to use looking for Colonel Hagbut."
Fragonard's eyes looked as if someone had just slapped him on the side of the head.
Brim smiled sympathetically at the ordnance man's discomfort . "I understand how you feel," he said honestly. "And I am also well aware of how close that could be cutting things. But we can't just desert those men without at least giving our best shot to bring them home. Remember, once we're gone, they have no hope at all."
"You're right, sir," Fragonard agreed. "I understand. I'd surely want it that way if I were in their shoes."
Brim nodded. "Besides," he said with a grin, "we'll have some potent help locating 'em soon as we call in the Fleet."
Fragonard knuckled his forehead. "Sorry. I..."
"Sorry nothing," Brim interrupted with a smile. "You gave me a chance to review my plans. Everybody needs a sanity check once in a while." Then he winked and made his way to where the BATTLE COMMs were busily rigging a portable KA'PPA.
"Ready in a moment, Lieutenant," a signal rating said. "By my timepiece, it's just about time to make your call."
Brim nodded, remembering his last view of the research center as he had crested the hill just before dawn. All the lights had been blazing—too late, he had noted with satisfaction. Now, in the early cycles of the morning, the clouds of the spent storm were disappearing rapidly and a cool breeze rustled ft the grass outside the fieldpieces. Everything smelled of A'zurn's rich, wet soil. The sirens were again quiet—he could hear chirps of morning birds and a low babble of conversation from the A'zurnians over the idling rumble of nearby traction systems.
"All ready to call the Fleet in from orbit, Lieutenant," the rating declared. "Your time window begins...now."
Brim nodded. "Call 'em," he ordered.
Instantly, patterns of light changed position and hue on the console while overhead KA'PPA rings spread lazily from the beacon on its portable tower. "Sent," the rating reported. Then, only ticks later, he added, "And acknowledged, Lieutenant. They're ready."
Brim nodded. "Pack it up then, ladies," he said to the BATTLE COMMs. "We'll be moving out momentarily. Then he trotted across the field and hoisted himself up the ladder. Climbing over the coaming, he turned to stare out the open hatch—listening.
He waited only cycles before he heard the distant rolling thunder. Nothing else in the Universe made a sound like that. Big, deep-space antigravity generators, a number of them, if his ears heard correctly. As far as his eyes could see, the overcast was shredded now into distinct layers of gray and white cloud tinged here and there by the gold of a still-hidden dawn. Below these, visibility was perfect. The rumble quickly grew to a crackling, pulsing thunder he could feel as well as hear. Soon the very air was steeped in it, a palpable, physical sensation that seemed to shake the very warp and woof of the planet itself.
Direction was obvious now. Brim peered into the fleecy clouds—any moment now. From the research center, he caught the overwhelmed wail of sirens. He grinned to himself. Too late for those, too!
Presently, the ships came arcing down among the distant clouds, growing rapidly as they steered directly for his bill. At the same time, the entire Universe dissolved in an unbelievable storm of raw, physical sound that physically throbbed against the massive fieldpieces and blasted the forest on either side of the cable right-of-way in a cloud of dead leaves. For a moment, the sky itself darkened, then the three big K-type Fleet destroyers glided overhead not more than two thousand irals high, their slipstreams whistling shrilly past bridges, deckhouses, and casemates as they came. Each hatch and housing on their undersides was visible as twelve long-barreled 200-mmi disruptors indexed smoothly downward, targeted on the research center.
An instant later, all discharged in crackling waves of blinding green plasma and incredible concussion.
Brim felt his hair stand on end. Trees glowed and sparked with globs of ball lightning—and the buried cable itself writhed burning from the ground in a traveling burst of soil and debris. Then a monstrous black cloud erupted over the hill with a vivid core of crimson and yellow flame as the three destroyers banked away to port into a gentle climbing turn, their disruptors returning to fore-and-aft parked position.
When the noise level dropped again, Brim could hear wild cheering from the A'zurnians. No one remained alive down there, and they knew it as well as he.
"Ships're calling for you, Lieutenant," Barbousse yelled, pointing to the COMM cabinet.
Brim ripped himself from his near trance and stepped into the control cabin. "Sublieutenant Wilf Brim here," he shouted.
"Commander Englyde Zantir here, Wilf," a voice boomed from among the flashing lights. "We're at your service as long as you need us. What else can we do to brighten your morning, Lieutenant?"
Brim stiffened. Englyde Zantir—everybody knew that name: dashing hero of a thousand hard-won battles. At his service. He was stunned. "Th-Thank you, sir," he stammered, then quickly recovered.
Hero worship could wait. "We need to find Colonel Hagbut's men, Commander," he continued. "They've been captured. If they're still in the area at all, they ought to be near their personnel carriers—six of them, I think. Last transmission came from nine thirteen point five by E9g."
"Personnel carriers," Zantir repeated thoughtfully. "Well, we'll have a look for them." In the distance, the rumble from the destroyers ceased to fade.
Brim looked toward the top of the hill, beyond which huge chunks of molten rock and debris were still falling through the towering column of smoke. "You people up to traveling some more this morning?" he called to the A'zurnians. "We need to move up the hill."
"Oh, we're all right, Lieutenant," a voice called out from the pitiful collection of rags and starved flesh.
"You Imperials worry about driving this thing, and we'll worry about hanging on."
"Yeah," another called out. "We've got a few scores to settle."
Brim nodded to Barbousse, the traction system roared, and the fieldpiece lumbered ahead. At the crest of the hill, Brim gasped first in astonishment, then in dumbfounded horror. Even the A'zurnians hushed with awe. Below, in the place where the research center once stood, all that now remained at the base of the towering smoke column was a glowing, bubbling crater perhaps two thousand irals wide and a hundred irals deep. Around this, a charred circle of smoldering, melted destruction extended outward another thousand irals. The blackened cable trench ran from the top of the bill and disappeared into the lurid incandescence below. He shook his head—a single salvo! So much for map locus 765jj .